


you sit there in your heartache (waiting on some beautiful boy)

by RainyForecast



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: A wee sprinking of angst, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Artist Steve Rogers, M/M, Peggy and Natasha are better than you and take no shit, Post-WS Bucky Barnes - Freeform, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, School Reunion, Skinny!Steve, Soldier Bucky Barnes, Stucky - Freeform, happy fluffy ending, high school sucks for us all, stupid boys being stupid about love, tattooed steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:44:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6322669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyForecast/pseuds/RainyForecast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have the most ridiculous inferiority complex I’ve ever seen, darling,” Peggy tells him, not for the first time. “Ridiculous, because you are wonderful. And this is the perfect opportunity to exorcise some of those old demons of yours. Now roll up your sleeves so your ink shows.” </p><p>	Steve does as she says, muttering that she’s definitely right about demons being involved, then takes a deep breath and walks up the familiar steps into Edward R. Murrow High School, following the tacky “Class of 2006 10 Yr Reunion!!!” signs to his inevitable doom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you sit there in your heartache (waiting on some beautiful boy)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "When You Were Young" by The Killers, because I am The Worst At Titles. 
> 
> Whipped into shape by the ever-amazing rhein. Honor upon you and your house! 
> 
> Heavily inspired by this photo: http://raisingcain.tumblr.com/post/83956530498/praise-the-puberty-overlords-photo-credit-to
> 
> I'm creaturesofnarrative on tumblr. Thanks for reading, and come say hi if you like!

 

 

“This was a bad idea,” Steve says, fidgeting with his tie for the umpteenth time. Peggy merely arches an eyebrow at him, continuing to flawlessly apply blood-red lipstick using only her reflection in Steve’s glasses. Witchcraft, Steve always insists.

“You have the most ridiculous inferiority complex I’ve ever seen, darling,” she tells him, not for the first time. “Ridiculous, because you are wonderful. And this is the perfect opportunity to exorcise some of those old demons of yours. Now roll up your sleeves so your ink shows.”

Steve does as she says, muttering that she’s definitely right about demons being involved, then takes a deep breath and walks up the familiar steps into Edward R. Murrow High School, following the tacky “Class of 2006 10 Yr Reunion!!!” signs to his inevitable doom.

***

Why he lets Peggy bully him into this is beyond him. She’d found the flyer crumpled in his trash and simply had not let the matter rest until he finally snapped and told her that yes, yes he would go, but only if she came with him.

“It’s not enough anymore you make me schmooze at all those gallery showings, Peggy?” he grouses at her.

“This will be good for you,” she says decisively, and as she has never steered him wrong before, he acquiesces.  

The reunion is everything he expected it to be, based on all the movies and television he’s seen. The halls and the gym smell eerily similar to how they did when he attended here, and most people’s eyes gloss over him as though he isn’t there, even though they snag on Peggy. You can’t not look at Peggy. Bombshell doesn’t even begin to cover it. Steve is so glad he’s never felt anything other than deep friendship for her. The crushing reality of being completely out of Peggy Carter’s league would probably destroy him otherwise. She’s a warm, comforting presence at his side, and he relaxes enough to make a game out of making her guess all the places where he’s been beat up when he attended here.

“Steve, really.” She tsks at him. “Is there absolutely no one you want to see? No one at all?”

Steve swallows, imagining wide blue-grey eyes in a sweet, boyish face. “Well. Maybe one person.”

***

Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes (or Bucky, as he liked to be called)  were two sides of the same unlucky coin. Puberty had dawdled for both of them—Steve was tiny and birdlike, and Bucky was soft-faced and awkward. Steve’s angry tendency to throw his asthma-wracked body into fights and Bucky’s general dorkiness didn’t really win them any friends at Murrow. Aside from each other. Bucky had seen Steve getting the crap kicked out of him one day and inserted himself into the situation, earning a bloody nose for his efforts. They bonded while sitting in the uncomfortable chairs at the nurse’s office, holding ice to their faces. And they were close ever since. Steve had spent most of his high school years, in fact, trying to conceal _just_ how much he cared about Bucky. How Steve would imagine what it would be like to hold hands with him, or to kiss him, or to curl into his side without pretending it was because he was freezing cold or feeling unwell.

He’d never forget graduation night. He’d found Bucky outside the auditorium, scratchy polyester robe still on. They’d held each other for a long, long time, and they might have cried on each other a little bit. It was enough to make Steve wonder if, maybe…

But it was all moot. Bucky shipped out to basic training three days after that, and a year later, even his sporadic emails and grainy Skype calls had ceased. It wasn’t just Bucky’s fault for growing busy and distant. Steve was tired, so tired of being in love with a straight guy (one who couldn’t shut up about this girl named Nat in his unit) that talking to Bucky was more painful than pleasant. When he got busy working while his ma was sick, it was almost a relief to have an excuse for not calling, not emailing. And so, Steve had tried to forget.

***

It’s certainly hard to try and forget now, when every part of this place reminds him of Bucky somehow. There’s the corner under the stairs where they used to hide out to eat lunch, over there is the door to their favorite teacher’s classroom. There’s the wall he was leaning against, listening to Bucky rant about Star Wars, where he’d first realized he wanted to kiss the shit out of his best friend.  Steve feels relieved to finally make it to the gym. It isn’t so soaked in memories. Bucky and he’d avoided sporting events like the plague, and Steve’s health issues had kept him out of P.E.

Now, instead of cheering students and sweating basketball players, the gym holds colored lights, alcohol (hopefully), and way too many people Steve doesn’t want to talk to. In fact, he spots someone who can only be Brock Rumlow as soon as he walks in, and only Peggy’s gentle push on his back sends him farther into the room.

“Alright, Steve. Let’s get a drink, and then we’re going to dance, do you hear me?”

“Yeah, Peg, I hear you.” Steve sighs. Here goes nothing.

***

The worst part, Steve decides after a bit, is the waiting, and the wondering. Luckily, he is able to channel his nerves into dancing with Peggy, taking no small amount of pride in the fact that he can dip her even though she is roughly three inches taller than him. During a quieter song, though, Peggy is distracted.

“Steven darling, there is an absolutely _beautiful_ man staring at you from over by the bar.”

Steve scoffs. “He’s looking at you, Peggy.” But he pivots them so that he’s facing the bar now, over Peggy’s shoulder.

There is, in fact, someone staring at them. He’s standing feet apart, shoulders back.  One of his sleeves is empty and pinned up right above the elbow. Steve catches shaggy brown hair pulled back from his face, and piercing eyes. While the rest of the man is unfamiliar, those aren’t. He stumbles against Peggy.

“Peg. I think that’s Buck.” Steve feels lightheaded and sick. Peggy turns them again, and gazes appraisingly over his shoulder.

“Hmm. Lovely cheekbones.”

Cheekbones. Buck. Since when did he have cheekbones. Steve’s left hand is shaking in Peggy’s, and he begins to be afraid his right is going to leave a sweaty mark on her dress.

“Steve. If we don’t go over, you’re going to regret it.”

“I know,” Steve answers. He brings them to a stop, and lets go of Peggy. He can feel his heartbeat in his _fingertips_. Trying to swallow the sudden papery feeling in his mouth, he smiles mirthlessly at Peggy, “Here goes nothing.”

***

The closer he comes, the more certain he is. It’s Bucky. Different hair, different body (holy _fuck_ ), different sharp cast to his face, but Bucky all the same. But the arm— _oh Buck._

“Bucky,” is all he can say when they’re close enough. Bucky stares back at him. God, he’s _beautiful_.

“Steve. How are you?” Bucky’s voice is soft, and unsure. He doesn’t reach a hand out to shake Steve’s, and Steve is grateful somehow. Cooly shaking hands like business acquaintances with the man who he’d loved as a boy? Not something he really feels like doing. However, now he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and reflexively folds his arms across his midsection. As if it would do any good at protecting against the visceral blow of seeing Bucky again. He notices Bucky’s eyes flicker down to Steve’s tattoos. Steve tries to look anywhere but at Bucky’s pinned-up left sleeve.

Movement at Bucky’s side catches Steve’s attention then. A terrifyingly beautiful red-headed woman has materialized, swirling a tumblr of something serious looking in one hand. Bucky glances at her and she raises a perfect eyebrow at him. “James?” she asks.

“Um, Nat, this is Steve. Steve, this is Nat.”

“Ah, you’re Steve, _the_ Steve! Natasha Romanoff,” the redhead says, in an attractively husky voice.

“Oh, Nat, I remember you.”

She looks bemused. “You remember me how?”

“Yeah, Bucky—James talked about you all the time.”

“Funny,” she says, smiling archly into her glass. “I could say the same about you.”

Steve can’t really process this; instead he take a moment to remember his manners and half turns to Peggy. “And this is Peggy—Peggy Carter.”

“Margaret Carter. How do you do?” Peggy’s wearing a smile just as dangerous looking as Natasha’s. “I mostly sell Steve’s art.”

 _Peggy no_ , Steve groans inwardly. But Bucky’s raised his eyebrows and his expression has gone soft and eager.

“Your paintings, Steve? Shit, you really did it.” Bucky’s smiling, and Steve wants to die. “I always knew you would.” Nope, _now_ Steve wants to die. He can feel his face and ears flush and he stares down at the scuffed toes of his dress shoes.

“Naw, I mean, it isn’t such a big—” he says.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Peggy interjects in admonishment. “Tell me this—James, is it? Pleasure to meet you. Was he this self-deprecating as a teenager as well?”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky says. “Ridiculous. He _always_ —“

“Okay!” Steve quickly says, before this excruciating line of conversation can develop further. “Peggy, I’m gonna go get us drinks. Um, do you guys want to grab a table with us?”

“Of course we do,” Natasha says brightly, and Steve hightails it to the bar to try to collect himself and get a glass of the strongest booze they have.

***

Shortly they’re sitting at a round table, the twinkle lights and plastic table cloth giving Steve flashbacks to senior prom. He’d gone stag and Bucky had taken Alisha Nguyen. It was not a fun night for Steve. But he figures it’s something to talk about at least.

“Buck, this remind you of prom at all?” Steve asks.

“Oh God,” Bucky intones.

“Wonder if Alisha’s here?” Steve asks, because he’s a masochist.

“Yeah. Married with a kid, what the hell,” Bucky says, and Steve feels relieved, irrationally. There’s still _Natasha_ , for fuck’s sake. And the fact that Bucky is _straight_. And the fact that Steve dropped his friendship and abandoned him. And then Bucky got himself hurt.

He’s got a new habit now, Steve notices, as Peggy grills Bucky for more details about their prom. Bucky reaches over and tugs at the edge of his left sleeve every so often. Actually, he has a couple new habits. He listens to the conversation and smiles, but Steve can’t help but notice that the smile drops when no one’s directly speaking to him, and that his eyes flick over the gym and crowd every couple of minutes, like he’s searching for who knows what. Bucky holds himself so differently now. Steve aches to see it. He didn’t get to watch Bucky become the man he is now.

He’s been staring too long. Bucky notices him looking and their gazes snag. Steve wants to look away but he makes himself smile. Bucky doesn’t smile back, but swallows and just keeps staring. Steve wonders what sorts of changes Bucky can see in _him_.

Feminine laughter startles them out of their staring contest. Peggy and Nat appear to be getting along, and if that isn’t a recipe for world domination, Steve doesn’t know what is. To his relief, the women keep the conversation going, because the air between Steve and Bucky is charged with tension. Part of it is Bucky. Steve wants desperately to know more about how the last few years have gone for him, but Bucky’s replies to questions are guarded and brief, making awkward snags and pauses in the conversation. Steve doesn’t want to pry or ask something inappropriate. But he learns that Bucky’s been out of the Army for nearly two years, hence the “absurd non-regulation shag, James” Natasha teases him for. Steve personally thinks Bucky’s long hair is hot. He manages not to inform the entire table of this. Bucky seems more interested in Steve’s life anyway. Peggy pulls out her phone where she has some photos from the last showing, because of course she does. Steve wipes his hands down his face in frustration (“Peg, c’mon”), but she just waves away his protests with a shushing noise. Bucky cradles her phone in his hand like it’s something precious, and when he looks up at Steve his eyes are wide and shining.

“Damn, Stevie.”

The familiar petname hits Steve like a physical blow. He flinches a little and closes his eyes for a second to gather himself. When he opens them, Bucky looks stricken. He clears his throat and makes a thin excuse about the bathroom and just _walks out_. Steve’s shoulders slump. Now look what he’s done. He swears he used to be better at masking his feelings.

When Bucky hasn’t returned in fifteen minutes, Natasha heads out to look for him with a grim expression on her face. Steve feels sick. He throws back probably a little too much of the bourbon he’s drinking, and Peggy pats his shoulder sympathetically.

“He might have problems with crowds you know,” she says. And she’s right, Steve realizes. He sets his glass down, determined.

“I need to check if he’s alright, Peg.” And while she shakes her head a little, eyes concerned, he gets up and goes in search of Bucky and Natasha.

***

The loud strains of Rihanna’s "Pon De Replay" muffle as soon as the heavy gym doors close behind him, and the hallway is dim and shadowy. He can hear faint voices, so he follows them to the right, towards the stairs. Right as he turns the corner of the hall, he catches sight of Bucky and Natasha, spotlighted by one of the hallway security lights. Bucky is sitting slumped on the stairs, Natasha is standing, arms folded. Bucky’s pulled the tie out of his hair and it’s falling in a shadowy curtain partially obscuring his face. Steve pulls up short when he hears what Bucky’s saying.

“Nat. Nat, I can’t do this.” Bucky has his head resting in his hand. Steve aches for him. The noise and crowds had probably been too much.

“Man up, James,” Natasha says, tapping one elegant shoe impatiently. What the hell. Steve thinks that if anyone would be understanding about this, it’d be Natasha. But then, Bucky scrubs his hand through his hair and continues:

“You saw the woman he’s got with him. Holy shit. Bet she’s something else. Has to be, for Stevie. He deserves—” The rest of Bucky’s words are choked off.

 _I shouldn’t be hearing this,_ Steve thinks wildly. _I shouldn’t._  But he can’t move. What the hell is Bucky getting at? What problem does Bucky have with Peggy?

“James, you are practically hysterical. I’ve seen you calmer under sniper fire.”

“I was calm, at least until I saw him. Fuck, he’s still so gorgeous.”

 _What—gorgeous—_ still _?_ Steve thinks. He can’t breathe.

“James,” Natasha says gently after a pause.

Bucky’s voice breaks. “I was so in love with him, Nat.”

“James. I’m not certain he is together with that woman. They don’t act like it. And the way he’s been staring at you—”

“We haven’t spoken in years. I look different. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You told me you were best friends. Practically soulmates. You think that kind of thing just evaporates?”

“Well, it did, didn’t it? I let it. You know that once we got sent to the Korengal—”

“I know. It’s not your fault. Do you think I was able to keep in touch with my friends? My family? You know what it was like.”

Bucky’s breathing harshly now, the sound so loud in the dark of the empty hall. Steve feels like his heart is breaking.

“I never told him how I felt about him. Stevie was always too good—”

“ _Bull-fucking shit,_ James Buchanan Barnes. I’m not even going to indulge you by acknowledging the remnants of your schoolboy angst. And I repeat: have you been paying _any_ attention to the way that boy is looking at you?”

“Nat, even if—” He makes an aborted gesture with his right hand towards the stump of his left arm.

“James, if you start in on some inane self-pity jag about your arm, I’m going to smack you. If Steve Rogers is half the man you always made him out to be, he won’t care.”

“Nat—”

“I wouldn't.” The words tear from Steve without his permission. He steps forward, fists clenched. Both of their heads jerk up at the sound of Steve’s voice, and Steve's heart catches at the look on Bucky’s face.

“Fuck you, James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve says. He’s standing on the edge of a precipice. Or maybe he’s already jumped and is in freefall. “Peggy’s just a friend. And not only did you think the arm would matter, you let me spend the last 15 years imagining I was _hopelessly in love_ with a _straight boy._ ”

Bucky looks poleaxed, gaping at Steve until he finally gets out: “Then why—”

“It was too hard, to keep talking to you, dredging my feelings up every time I thought I’d gotten them under control. And Ma. Ma got really sick almost a year after you left.”

“Fuck, Stevie.”

“I didn't tell you because—” Steve swipes angrily at the tears welling in his eyes, “I didn’t want you stewing about it, so far away. Stupid, I know. But I was 19 years old and my mother was dying, and I thought I’d lost my best friend—” His hand is over his eyes. He’s going to start crying, he just knows it.

“Stevie.”

The raw gentleness of Bucky’s voice is the final straw, and Steve does his best to choke down the sob welling up in his throat.

And then Bucky’s right there, wrapping his arm around Steve and smelling of spicy aftershave. He crushes Steve to his chest and presses his cheek to Steve’s hair, and Steve is pretty sure he’s got tears in his eyes too. Steve winds his own arms around Bucky’s waist. He doesn’t know how to say it in a way that isn’t cheesy as all hell: he never wants to let go. He pulls back a little though, and loosens his hold on Bucky, but only to grab Bucky’s tie.

“Jerk,” he chokes out.

Bucky’s smile is achingly wonderful. “Punk.” And then Steve pulls Bucky down to him, and finally, finally, covers Bucky’s perfect mouth with his own.

  
***

_5 years later_

Steve’s painting when he hears Bucky get home. He tracks Bucky’s progress through the house by ear—the clatter of his keys when he throws them down on the little table in the entryway, the thud of his shoes as he kicks them off, the sound of the faucet in the kitchen. “Stevie?” Bucky calls out.

Steve smiles as he hollers back: “Painting!”  A moment later, he hears Bucky step into the studio, and then Bucky’s wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist from behind and nuzzling a kiss into the curve of Steve’s neck. Steve leans back into him with a sigh.

“Productive day?” Bucky asks. “The mail was still on the mat, even.”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, and starts to become aware that he’s starving, and kinda needs to take a piss. But the painting is coming together; it really is. Bucky begins to dig his thumb into the knots in Steve’s shoulders and neck.

“Looks amazing, Stevie.”

“Better than it _was_ looking, anyway. I think I forgot lunch though.” Bucky tsks at him and drapes himself over Steve’s back, chin resting on Steve’s head.  

“Invitation came in. Guess what—it’s the 15th year anniversary of our escape from high school.”

Steve makes a derogatory noise. “Not going. Absolutely not going.” Bucky laughs and turns Steve on his swivel stool so that he’s facing him.

“Aw c’mon. Things didn’t turn out so bad at the last one, did they?” He leans in and kisses Steve, slow, and lingering. Steve hums in agreement as they break apart.

“Maybe it wasn’t so bad. But I’ve got the only person from high school I care about right here. “

“You say the sweetest things,” Bucky grins. “Now come and eat something before you pass out.”

“That was _one time_! And I had the flu!” Steve protests, but relents and starts rinsing off his brushes. “Go on. I’ll be right there.” Bucky drops a last kiss into his hair in acknowledgement and leaves the studio. Steve smiles to himself as he finishes cleaning up, finally flicking off the lights and heading to the kitchen, where he knows his husband is waiting for him.

 


End file.
